


Like an Unwanted Roommate Drunk on Wine

by sincerelymendacious



Category: Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Writing Exercise, board room meeting gone wrong, tw: eye-scream, tw: intrusive thoughts, tw: sharp objects, tw:blood, tw:monsters, tw:violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27838663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincerelymendacious/pseuds/sincerelymendacious
Summary: A run of mill meeting goes haywire when new member of the team makes a very...inappropriate suggestion.
Kudos: 8





	Like an Unwanted Roommate Drunk on Wine

**Author's Note:**

> This is less a complete fic and more of a writing exercise I used to express an idea about how intrusive thoughts might work within the context of the game. I don't know if I'll expand on Lester specifically, but I am pretty fascinated by Sasha and the intrusive thoughts that he no doubt has had to deal with for most of his life! 
> 
> Fic title was taken from the song "A Terrible Thought" by Poe. Not only is the song a bop but it is very fitting for the Psychonauts universe.

A soft creak came from the chair as Lester Amphrey sank into it. He sighed upon hearing it. It was not so long ago that the sound had been absent, and that it was present now meant that he was spending too many lunch breaks at the Arby’s drive-through. _I need to start packing my lunches again,_ he thought as he set his briefcase on the table. _God knows I don’t need to give the doctor another reason to get on my case._

The issue of his lunches would have to be set aside for another meeting, since the topic of this one was one of great importance. “Alright, everyone,” he said as the rest of his brain-trust took their seats at the long, polished-oak table (much more quietly than he had- damn it, he needed to get this lunch problem under control). “Let’s get down to business.” He twisted the combination locks on his briefcase and then opened it up. “No time for fun and games today,” he said as he lifted the lone item out of it. “We’re on a very tight schedule.”

Despite that, he wasted precious seconds looking at the object he had just taken out, holding it like it was the most valuable thing in the world. It was a framed picture of a woman with a gentle, loving smile, her dark hair streaked with gray and swept up into a messy bun. Lester trailed his fingers over those soft, grey eyes and the dimples that he loved so much. Just looking at her always made his heart swell with affection, even after thirty-three years of marriage. “Charlene’s birthday is coming up in two weeks,” he said as he set the frame up on the table so that everyone could see it. “And I need to get her a present. Something that’ll really knock her socks off. And everything else that she’s wearing that day.”

At the far left end of the table, a lazy arm rose up and then fell back upon the table. “Pillows,” said a fellow whose disheveled hair and clothing implied that he had just rolled out of bed, and whose half-open eyes suggested that he might still be asleep. “A nutri-bullet. A nice set of diamond jewelry. A subscription to Fabulous Fruit Weekly.” He shrugged. “Maybe a balloon that says ‘Happy Birthday’ on it.”

“No, no, no,” Lester said, emphasizing each ‘no’ with a bang of his fist on the table. “And definitely no to that last one. I need real ideas, people! Don’t just list things she talked about in passing.”

The man at the far end of the table shrugged again, not at all stung by the rejection. He set his head on the table and went to sleep, his role in the meeting complete. Another man with hair hardened by gel spoke up next. “She needs a new car,” he said, sliding a magazine across the table. “She’s been driving that rust-bucket van for God knows how long,” he continued as Lester picked up the magazine. “It’s time for her to put that hunk of junk aside and drive something that was actually made in this millennium.”

“Hm.” Lester studied the magazine, looking at the ad for a silver Lincoln MKZ with interest. “I have been wanting her to get rid of that old van. Things so old it's a safety hazard at this point.”

“Exactly,” said the oily-haired man.

“Yeah, exactly.” The voice that spoke up was youthful and feminine. “You’ve been wanting her to get a new car for almost a decade.” The speaker was the newest addition to Lester’s brain-trust, and currently the only woman on the team. She bore a striking resemblance to his own daughter in appearance and manner. “But she loves that van. You could buy her a hundred Lincolns and she’d never drive a single one.”

Lester sighed, knowing the woman was right. As old and worn as the van was, it held significant sentimental value to Charlene. And to himself, as well- they’d driven across the United States in it after graduating college. Hell, Charlene had taught all of their kids to drive in it. Getting her a new luxury car was appealing to him, but to her, it might be seen as an attack on their most treasured memories. “No cars,” he said, nodding at the young woman with approval. “Any other ideas?”

“An ice pick.”

“What?” A sulphurous stench hit Lester’s nostrils, and he wrinkled his nose, baffled and disgusted. This speaker was not one he recognized, and they had a low, guttural voice more befitting a dangerous beast than a human being. “What the hell did you say?” he demanded as he swiveled his chair to the right.

He was quick to push his wheeled chair back, for the newcomer was closer than he had expected them to be. They scooted back along with him, their fetid breath misting on his face. “An ice pick,” they repeated, yellowed eyes wide and gleeful, bulging out from a face covered in painful, seeping sores. “Slide it right into her eye.” Chapped lips split open in a grin, revealing teeth black and jagged with rot.

Lester’s mouth dropped open in shock, the blood draining from his face. Words died in his throat as his stomach churned, nauseated by both the monster’s appearance and by the awful image it had forced into Lester’s head. The monster took Lester’s silence as an opportunity for more torment. “It’ll go in easy,” they said, tone a horrible parody of seduction, “like a fork through jelly.”

And oh God, the monster was right. It would go in easy, so long as it was sharp enough. Lester saw it when he closed his eyes to get some relief from the monster’s gruesome visage. He saw himself holding Charlene by the back of her head with one hand while driving the ice pic into her eye with the other. His fingers twisting into her abundance of hair. Her hands clawing at his arm while she screamed, blood running down her beautiful face. And himself, assaulting the love of his life so brutally, his eyes alight with the same excitement the monster’s had had while suggesting the awful idea…”

Lester wrenched his eyes open and kicked his leg out with all of his might. “Security!” he shouted, the word echoing loud and desparte through the room.

In an instant, two beefy, bespectacled guards burst through the door, heading directly for the monster, prone on the floor and chuckling to themself. “Nope,” both guards said in unison as they lifted the monster up like a sack of potatoes and carried them out.

It was over, just like that. The monster was gone as suddenly as it had appeared. Lester wiped his sweaty forehead, heart hammering in his chest. He looked down the table and realized that he was alone, his brain-trust having fled during the scuffle. Perhaps they just vanished into nothing. They were gone, but Lester was not alone. “Did you see all that?” he asked, turning his head to look back at the corner of the room.

The agent stepped forward from the shadows, hands in the pockets of his black jacket. His expression betrayed nothing of his thoughts, but Lester still could not bring himself to look at him for very long, certain of the judgement going on behind the agent’s sunglasses. “Yes, I saw it,” the agent said, his voice deep and accented. “An intruder found its way into your board meeting.”

Lester nodded, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eyes. “This has been happening for weeks.” With the confession came a feeling of great shame. “These...things.” He threw his hands up, unable to think of any other way to describe the creatures that had been invading his thought-process. “They keep popping up out of nowhere. Telling me these awful things. Suggesting that I kill my wife or strangle my best friend. When they say it, I see it.” Lester bent forward and put his head into his hands, overwhelmed. “Last week I was pulling out of my driveway and some Swamp Man rip-off told me to run over the little boy next door.”

The agent did not say anything, but Lester could hear him walking over. He came to a stop next to Lester’s chair, standing close enough to put a comforting hand on Lester’s shoulder. He didn’t, though, and for that Lester was grateful- he didn’t want empty gestures of reassurance, he wanted a solution to his problem. “I swear, Agent Nein,” he said, looking up at the man, “I’m not a monster.” He let out a joyless laugh. “I’m just thinking like one for some goddamn reason.”

“Of course you’re not a monster,” the agent said, sounding like he thought Lester was foolish for saying it. “You’re having an issue with intrusive thoughts. It’s not an uncommon problem.”

“Intrusive thoughts,” Lester muttered, considering the idea. “How the hell are they getting in? Is there like a back entrance to my mind that I don’t know about?”

Lester had not meant for the question to be taken seriously, but Agent Nein answered it anyway. “There may be,” he said, which did little to quell Lester’s fears. “I would have to do a perimeter check in order to find out where these pests are coming from.”

“Calling them pests seems to be putting it lightly,” Lester said.

“That is what they are, ultimately,” Agent Nein replied. “It’s natural that these thoughts should cause you anxiety, but they do not reflect who you are, nor can they influence your actions.”

“Huh.” Lester mulled that statement over. “So...they’re like roaches. Ugly as hell, but pretty easy to stomp on.”

“Well, I would not have used cockroaches as a comparison point,” Agent Nein said, frowning. “But yes. That is the basic idea.”

When put that way, it didn’t sound quite so bad. Lester could handle stepping on a few nasty bugs. “And I assume you know how to put these intruders down?” he asked, feeling confident that his problem might be solved for the first time in a long while.

“I do,” Agent Nein replied. “I also know how to prevent them from intruding in the first place.” The corner of his stern mouth quirked up in what Lester guessed was the closest the man could get to a smile. “I have extensive experience in this particular field.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here's some rambling I posted on the Psychowhatsits discord server after I posted the draft for this fic:
> 
> Intrusive thoughts, where something revolting and atrocious enters your mind, are something that should be represented by hideous, frightening, and uncomfortable looking beings  
> These beings should inspire fear, anxiety and disgust, because those are the emotions that the thoughts they embody inspire  
> Having Intrusive Thoughts does not mean that you have any desire to act on them. Nor does it mean you enjoy any aspect of the Thought. Quite the opposite, actually.  
> In a way, these thoughts are like pests. You don't want to see them, you might scream or jump when you encounter them, but you can easily stomp them to death  
> They're ultimately pretty weak.
> 
> What followed was some pretty good discussion regarding Sasha's intrusive thoughts, and how they affect his relationship with Milla, so that was cool. If you have any thoughts or questions on the subject, please share them in the comments!


End file.
